A Fragile Chain of Daisies: Flowers of the Aristocracy (Untamed Regency Book 4)

by Jackie Williams

  The other footmen looked on curiously as Pierce raked his hand through his hair.

  “Good grief! Why can she never do as she is told? But I don’t blame you, Victor. I think that making mischief is a trait she was born with. One would have hoped she might have grown out of it by now, but that clearly isn’t the case. And you have no idea when she left, or in what direction?” He kept his temper by a thread as he paced Lord Templeton’s entrance hall.

  Victor shook his head.

  “Not personally, but Billings in the stables said that she came for one of the horses shortly after Lord Cravenwood and his sister left for Lord Blakemore’s afternoon tea party. Apparently the Duchess was dressed in the most scandalous outfit. Breeches if you would believe it!” The man huffed. “Billings and the stable lad thought she was a stranger until she spoke, and then they recognized her, of course. She saddled the stallion herself stating that you had given her leave to ride any horse in the stables. As she has been in residence for several days and is a known horsewoman, the man didn’t think to protest.”

  Pierce groaned.

  “And I don’t suppose he thought to ask her where she might be heading either?”

  Victor shook his head.

  “Sadly not. He didn’t think it his place to ask, and as we were all keeping quiet about your being back in town, he didn’t think her disguise out of place.”

  Pierce glanced at the hall clock and pressed his fingertips to his forehead. The clock in the hall chimed eight times. Good Lord! She had been gone for hours already.

  “Where in God’s name would she go?” He racked his brains for any idea but wiped most immediate thoughts from mind almost instantly. She wouldn’t go anywhere where she was known. The risk of discovery would be too great, and although being in mourning didn’t mean one couldn’t meet friends, it seemed highly unlikely that she would jeopardise his own position. Not that he hadn’t jeopardised it himself. He glanced about as he suddenly noticed several sets of eyes peering at him with rather more interest than they perhaps should. Damnation! He turned quickly to his valet.

  “I will have to leave immediately. We are calling rather too much attention to ourselves. Send a message with one of these footmen to Bertie and Miss Clara that I am going home now to see if she left any clue as to where she might have gone, and then setting back out... to goodness knows where.”

  Victor gave a quick nod before Pierce turned on his heel and ignoring the gasps of surprise from the other servants, made his way out of Lord Templeton’s front door.

  She was not as lithe as she used to be was Daisy’s first thought as she shimmied awkwardly along the branch of the tree. But then she hadn’t climbed an oak in years. It was a wonder she could do it at all.

  Shifting herself inch by inch, she made her way over the wall. Where she realized her next problem. How to get down? Ten foot might not be far to a daring twelve year old, but to someone of five and twenty the prospect looked far less appealing. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. She slid sideways and put a booted foot on top of the wall before swinging her other leg over the branch to join the first. Then she balanced herself before kneeling and lastly sliding down the stone until she hung onto the top of the wall with nought but her fingertips.

  The drop to the floor was now but a few feet away and she let go, landing with a soft ‘oof’ as she hit the ground. Brushing loose bark and grit from her breeches, she glanced about. Moonlight began to filter through the thin layer of cloud and lit the track through the estate to the house. Regretting that the estate was so large and not being able to bring her mount with her, she set off on the long walk to the house.

  Nothing, no note, no anything. Not on the writing desk, the mantelpiece, or the dressing table. Pierce stood in Daisy’s bedroom and frowned as he glared at the dresses hanging in her open wardrobe. Daisy’s trunks had clearly arrived and colours bulged in every direction. If it were even possible, there looked to be more than there had been in her wardrobe at Portland Hall. He moved one or two and breathed in the scent of orange blossom and fresh air, wishing it was her he could smell, not merely her clothes.

  The silks rustled beneath his fingertips. Such lovely colours. None of which, apart from her wedding dress, had he seen her wear as yet. For the last few days she had worn her mourning black. Not a colour for someone as lively as his Daisy. Yes, his Daisy. His heart suddenly felt too big for his chest as worry swept through him. Where was she? What could she have needed to do that involved riding away without leaving him so much as a note?

  He let the dresses fall back into place and paced across the room once again. The only other thing that might be out of place was an empty velvet pouch cast carelessly on her dressing table. What had it contained? She wore no jewellery that he had seen. What was she up to? Her disappearance wouldn’t be something trivial. Daisy never did anything trivial. Well, she hadn’t before her marriage.

  His eyes alighted on the bear sitting on her bed and a modicum of relief loosened the constriction that had formed in his throat. She would never have left her bear, he was as sure of that. It gave him hopes of her coming back.

  But it still rankled him that she hadn’t trusted him with her whereabouts. They were married for goodness sake. She belonged to him. She couldn’t simply take off without his knowledge! But of course she could. And she clearly had. Though for what reason he had no idea.

  Damn you, Daisy! What have you done? He whirled around, making sure he hadn’t missed anything, but there was nothing save the ragged bear left to reassure him. If that counted as reassurance. What if her leaving it meant that she had said a final goodbye.

  His heart pounded hard in his chest and a wave of fear hit him anew. The evening before he had thought she looked at him with love in her eyes. But it may not have been the case. Had she left him for good? Was he so deluded that he had misread her feelings for him?

  Or had she misread his feelings for her? Did she still believe he only married her because of circumstance? The doubts became more intense. He hadn’t given her any reason to believe more.

  Fury at his own stupidity overwhelmed him. Why did he think she would trust him with her secrets? He hadn’t told her he loved her, hadn’t even shown that he cared. Damn it! Did she think he didn’t want her, didn’t find her attractive? At the very least, he should have said something about his feelings for her. He had wanted her for so long, thought she was out of his reach for years, but when he had the most perfect opportunity, what had he done? Absolutely nothing. Worse than nothing. With the time spent learning how to become a footman, he had as good as ignored her.

  What kind of fool was he? She had been his wife for four days and, though each night he had lain in his bed almost mad with desire for her, he hadn’t so much as knocked on her bedroom door. He had told himself that it was too soon. And it probably was. Without considering her husband’s death, she had lost a baby. She probably wouldn’t be ready to have him in her bed for months. But he could have gone and talked to her, perhaps held her hand. It would have cost him dear in unrequited ardour, but after having lost her once, he knew that he would wait a lifetime for her. He would do anything to win her heart. Anything.

  Sighing, he took one more glance about the room and frowned as saw the dresses again. Her mourning dress hung at the front of all the coloured creations. Where would she go not wearing the black? Why was she in disguise? Yes, her husband had been murdered, but she didn’t need to hide. No one yet suspected their hasty marriage. Daisy remained the Duchess of Portland. She would be welcomed with open arms, and a good deal of sympathy, in any of the houses of the ton.

  Unless the gossip he had heard earlier was making the rounds. Were there wagging tongues insinuating that she was involved in her husband’s demise? Or perhaps others knew of the loss of her baby. That news would surely cause a stir for if there was no immediate heir, the next nearest would have to be found. Daisy would be cast off and cast out. And then where would she go?

  He sho
ok his head. It wasn’t as if Daisy didn’t have family or friends. If her parents wouldn’t have her back, her brother certainly would. Lucas loved his sister, would never see her come to harm. And there were many others who felt the same. Pierce would lay money that though Daisy might not have kept up their friendships during her marriage, there wasn’t one of her previous social circle who would turn her away. For the life of him he couldn’t think of a single person who wouldn’t do their all to help her.

  Except one. Yes, there was only one person he knew who wouldn’t care enough to help Daisy. The one who stood to lose most if there was no heir. Jane Benedict. Daisy’s mother in law.

  Pierce pressed his fingertips to his temples, his gut instantly telling him that this was who Daisy wore the disguise for. But Jane Benedict wasn’t in London. The self serving old bag had remained at Portland Hall. Was her old home Daisy’s intended destination? It would seem so, but why? Perhaps her maid had forgotten to pack some vital lotion, or perfume. No, Daisy wouldn’t worry about that sort of thing. Besides, most of it was made in London. She could simply order more.

  So what else would she want? Her horse? Yes, but she wouldn’t have to wear a disguise to collect Bernadette. Andrews would probably be thrilled to see the animal out of the stables. No, it had to be something small and personal that had been overlooked in all the packing. But what could have been forgotten that warranted her sneaking out of his house wearing breeches, a worn coat, and a hat to conceal her abundance of glorious hair? If her purpose was to pick up some misplaced trinkets, she could have simply taken his carriage, rolled up to Portland Hall in comfort, and demanded her possessions with her chin high and her nose in the air.

  Unless she didn’t want anyone to know what she had come for.

  Pierce pressed his lips together as he realized the truth of his thoughts. She clearly wanted something that she wasn’t meant to have. Something private, secret. Perhaps not actually hers to take.

  He picked up the velvet pouch and scratched his head. The footman’s wig had made his head sweat and itch. He prayed that it hadn’t been full of fleas. Victor would have a veritable fit if any found their way into the house, but he couldn’t worry about his valet’s sensibilities right now. What was his bride up to? Did she need funds? Did the pouch contain the key to the family strong box? It was about the right size for a key. Was she about to steal one of the Portland family heirlooms? Unlikely. Daisy was no thief.

  One of her nefarious, hairbrained schemes then. It had to be. Something daring, something she shouldn’t be doing. Definitely something of which he would disapprove. She had deliberately waited until he and their friends were out of the house and unlikely to return until late. By which time they would have assumed she had taken to her bed. And being so late home it was doubtful that they would rise early. Daisy could be out for the whole night and they would be none the wiser. She was already a full four hour’s ride away.

  But no respectable woman could be seen riding on the road alone. Pierce rolled his eyes at himself. Of course! Another reason for the breeches and hat. She must have been planning this since the day they had left Portland Hall. Probably from the moment she realized that they weren’t going back, but carrying on to London.

  And it was no wonder she had caved into the idea of staying in alone and embroidering another cushion without protest. She had wanted them all out of the house so she could sneak off while they would be none the wiser. He could all but see her expression when Victor told her that he had been instructed to stick by her side for the day. Her delicate brows would have dipped, a tiny wrinkle would have formed across her brow, and her mind would have been working at a million miles an hour while she thought how to shake the man off.

  Not that it would have been difficult to persuade the valet. The man’s look had revealed his horror when Pierce gave his orders for the day. Victor’s eyebrows rose, his lips pursed, and his nose had pinched as he sucked in a resigned breath of air. Some people were easy to read, and Pierce would have laughed at the pair of them if the situation was not so serious.

  But serious it was, and Pierce knew that apart from the obvious dangers on the road, if Daisy’s true identity came to light while she raced across the countryside, her already tarnished reputation would be sullied beyond repair.

  He let out deep sigh as he eventually left her room. The scent of her disappeared as he closed the door behind him and walked along the hall. His feet ached as he strode towards his own chambers. It would appear that his suffering had been for nought. It was unlikely that he would gain employment as a footman again. Word would get around fast that he had left his post. And when Lord Templeton’s guests discovered their coats in such disarray... He couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips. Clara was going to tear him off a strip when she found her own cloak thrown upon the floor, but he really didn’t care. At least he would be able to change out of the ridiculous shoes and outfit he had been forced to wear.

  He pushed open his bedroom door, startling Victor who glanced up from arranging an array of leather boots. The man had the decency to look slightly abashed. As well the man should letting Daisy get the better of him within minutes of leaving her alone. Pierce gave a nod as Victor held out a pair of soft leather riding boots.

  “Thank you, Victor.” He toed off the uncomfortable shoes and wriggled his cramped toes.

  “Will you take dinner before you leave, my Lord?”

  Pierce shook his head.

  “No, but maybe a sandwich while I change my clothes.” He began tugging on his jacket.

  Victor took the garment from his employer.

  “Of course, my Lord. If you can manage, I’ll just pop down to the kitchen and fetch you a light supper.”

  Pierce shook his head again as he pulled off his pantaloons.

  “On second thoughts, ask cook to bag me up something. It’s already late and I am keen to catch her Ladyship before she falls prey to any footpads or cutpurses.”

  Victor’s shoulders drooped.

  “I am sorry, my Lord. If I had but guessed she would...”

  Pierce waved away the man’s apology. He knew his new wife of old.

  “Think nothing of it, man. I should have known that she had something up her sleeve. Now I simply have to find out what it is and rescue her from the trouble she has put herself in.” He let Victor leave the room, the man’s shoulders still drooping despite his master’s forgiving words. Pierce turned to his wardrobe and found his riding gear. He dressed as quickly as he could, buttoning his jacket against the chill evening air before heading towards the stairs and his kitchen, all the while knowing that there was nothing he could do but follow his beautiful, headstrong, frustrating woman, wherever her antics led him. Just as he had always done so many years before.

  Chapter Seventeen

  An Interesting Perspective

  The rising moon made the way a little easier, but the walk had taken her longer than she had hoped. After missing her way in the darkness and ending up at the other end of the lake, it had taken her more than an hour to find her way through the copse of trees towards the back of the house.

  And not only had she taken the wrong track, but she had twisted her ankle on a hardened mud rut, and almost blinded herself by stumbling into a low hanging branch. Blinking madly and wiping her watering eyes on her jacket sleeve, it had taken more minutes to find her hat and to conceal her hair back within it. She made a mental note to remind the groundskeeper to check all routes into the estate and within the grounds, making sure to keep them clear in the future. Clear for whom, she couldn’t be sure. The new Duke of Portland, whoever that may be, she supposed. It certainly wouldn’t be her.

  At least she could now see the outline of Portland Hall in the distance. Lights shone in several downstairs windows but the ones to the right of the building remained dark. Her foot suddenly crunched loudly on a cobble and she put all thoughts from her mind as the dark form of the rear of the stable block loomed.

  Lim
ping along the side wall, she listened for any sounds, but although the subtle glow from the lanterns cast shadows across the courtyard, the only noise she could hear was the odd clatter of a hoof or a soft neigh. For a second she wondered if she could slip in and see her beloved Bernadette, but the seriousness and secrecy of her visit meant that she couldn’t chance it. The letters had more value than her horse if they fell into the wrong hands.

  The scent of pipe smoke warned her to tread warily. Was Andrews still up? Or was it her mother in law’s driver having a quiet smoke at the end of another difficult day? She couldn’t tell, but suspected it was the latter. Whoever it was, she could almost imagine their position, leaning over the stable door and staring out into the night.

  She took a few steps away, ducked back into the shadows, and watched the stables carefully. While she didn’t have to pass directly in front of them, any movement she made would be seen easily with the moon now shining so brightly. Long minutes passed before she heard a low grunt and a long sigh. The scent of tobacco drifted away. At last the open door closed, and the nearest of the lamps were snuffed out.

  Standing in the stirrups to give his backside a break from the gruelling night ride, Pierce began to wonder if he had been mad to follow Daisy on this wild adventure. And his horse wasn’t enjoying the gallop any more than he was. The animal had slowed considerably since they had set out three hours earlier, and Pierce had let it. There had been no time to stop for a rest. No point in laming the animal. Or worse.